The Wild Shepard
by Allard-Liao
Summary: When humanity entered the galactic community, they brought along a sub-race that exhibits a wide variety of literal superpowers. Commander Shepard is one of these "mutants." Set mostly in the movie-verse with a sprinkling of the comics.


2173, Vancouver

United North American States, Earth

Sol, Local Cluster

A young woman wearing a black leather jacket sat in a set of make-shift bleachers, watching the action unfold before her. Fiery red hair framed her pale face, and pale green eyes missed nothing. Officially, places like this didn't exist. But humans were a violent species that liked to watch bloody events; peel away the gilded veneer of the Systems Alliance, and Earth was still the same shithole it always was. That was the reason for the setup in this old warehouse: four sets of seats stacked on platforms around a hexagonal ring of fencing, within which people could beat the crap out of each other to their hearts' content. The only rule: You had to leave your opponent able to come back and fight again, some day.

A body skipping over the fence indicated the current match was over, and a triumphant roar signaled that the champion's winning streak continued. The massive krogan spread his arms and basked in the praise. "Anyone else want to challenge the Warlord?" he bellowed.

The woman stood. "I do."

When she walked to the bottom of the bleachers, the ring announcer approached her. "What do I call you, little lady?"

The woman put a hand on her hip and her weight on the same leg. "Call me Shepard."

He nodded and led her into the combat area. When the combatants were in their respective corners, he shouted, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have another exciting fight ahead of us. To my left, we have our reigning champion, the Warlord! But! On my right is a very eager challenger, the Shepherd!"

The air filled with a cacophony of cheers and applause. Shepard took off her jacket, and gasps of realization joined in. Beneath the jacket, she wore a red leather vest over a sleeveless white t-shirt that bared her shoulders; on her right shoulder was tattooed a stylized "10" in red ink encircled by a black ring with a dashed yellow line running through it. The vest and tattoo marked her as a member of the Tenth Street Reds, one of the most vicious street gangs in Vancouver. And every single member was a mutant.

"Oh-hoh! This match'll be a treat, folks! We haven't had a mutant fight in this ring in quite some time. Can the Shepherd's mutant abilities overcome the Warlord's raw power? Let's find out! Fight!" The announcer then demonstrated a mutation of his own by teleporting out of the ring.

Shepard scrutinized her opponent, looking for any weaknesses; she internally smirked when she saw him doing the same thing. Her plan decided, she charged the krogan.

His eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before he grinned and responded with his own charge.

The announcer began his commentary, but Shepard tuned him out as she dropped into a slide between the krogan's legs. As she passed through, she kicked the back of his knee, causing him to stumble, and used the momentum to spring back to her feet.

Warlord regained his balance and turned toward her. "Well, well. You may just give me a good fight." He advanced again, more cautiously this time.

She dodged two powerful punches before slamming her fist into his chin. The crowd gasped as, with a resounding *CRACK*, the krogan was launched into the air. However, the misshapen form of Shepard's arm showed that it was not anything of the Warlord's parts that had been broken.

Keeping a careful eye on her opponent, who was slowly, and unsteadily, staggering upright, Shepard popped her shattered arm back into shape with a sickening melody of wet crunches.

"Oh. While that is normally a very bad sound, it seems that the Shepherd has a healing factor."

She flexed her now-healed arm and settled back into a combat stance.

"And a **very** powerful one at that." At that point, Shepard tuned him out again.

Warlord regained his footing and flashed Shepard the krogan equivalent of a smirk. "No human has ever hit me like that. But I won't let you do it again."

She barked a short, derisive laugh. "I'd be insulted if you did. I like to work for my victories, thank you very much."

A deep belly laugh issued from her opponent. "You'd fit right in on Tuchanka. Now, let's finish this."

"Agreed." Shepard pounced at him, arms spread.

He drew his fist back, ready to intercept her with a colossal, bone-crushing punch.

She twisted around the blow with the grace of a cat. As she passed over his shoulder, she revealed one of her last aces. The skin just above her wrist split open as a sharp bone slid out from underneath with a distinct *snikt* sound. When the claw had extended to a length of over ten inches, a second section pushed it out still further with a second *snikt*. By the time it was finished, the bone blade spanned nearly two feet from her arm.

Shepard stabbed the blade into the krogan's fatty hump, arresting her forward momentum. As she dropped down, she popped out a second blade from her other arm and slashed his hamstrings.

Then something happened that surprised Shepard. As he collapsed to his knees, she went to impale Warlord's shoulder and disable the joint. However, he ducked to his right. Instead of his shoulder, her claw neatly slipped beneath the bony plate on his head.

He froze, and Shepard feared for a moment that she had killed him, despite still being able to hear the krogan's strong and rapid twin heartbeats. Then he began blubbering, of all things. "Please. I yield, you win. Just don't rip off my crest. Please!"

Very carefully, she worked her arm blade free of his head and sheathed both blades. "So, jamming a blade into a krogan's crest is an instant 'I win' button, eh? Good to know."

Warlord stood up. "It's torture, is what it is." He smiled. "But torture can sometimes break your opponent and earn you a victory, and **that** is all that matters in the end." He extended his hand. "I've seen humans do this when they greet each other. Ravenor Gruttak."

Shepard accepted the handshake and introduced herself. Then her omni-tool chimed, showing that her winnings had been wired to her account. A few hundred credits; not a lot, but a tidy little sum. "Sweet."

"Heh. Keep yourself safe, kid, and you'll go far."

They said their goodbyes, one warrior to another, and parted ways.

* * *

The house was dark when Shepard arrived home, which suited her needs just fine. She hopped up and grabbed the porch overhang, pulling herself up to the second floor. She cringed at every creak and groan the wood of the porch made as she put her weight on it; while a normal human would likely not have even noticed, to her sensitive ears, each and every sound was as loud as a firecracker.

Finally, she reached her bedroom window. After sliding it open a hair, she stopped and listened. To her tremendous relief, she could hear naught but her own heartbeat and the ambient noise of the surrounding woods. Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, she opened the window fully and slipped inside.

"Sarah."

Shepard sighed again, this time in defeat, and turned to face the speaker. "Mom."

In many ways, Shepard was the spitting image of her mother. The only differences were that her mother was leaner, with more wiry muscle, and had black hair instead of red; that trait Shepard got from her father. "Who did you fight, _this_ time?"

"A krogan named Gruttak. He'll be fine."

Her mother put her forehead into her palm and shook her head. "This is the eighth time you have been involved in violence just this year." She sighed. "Fine. If you want to fight so badly, I will drop you off at the Alliance recruiter first thing in the morning, where you can do some good."

"But–"

"Not up for discussion."

"…Yes, Mom." There were some people in the universe you just did not argue with, and Laura Shepard nee Kinney was one of those people.


End file.
